


Eum salvo - I save him

by DissidiumDianthus



Series: The History of a Dandelion [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 07:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20093209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DissidiumDianthus/pseuds/DissidiumDianthus
Summary: Two years have passed since Hel'shrael Lavellan has separated from Alexius and his family to go back to his clan. His reunion, however, doesn't go as planned, and the only thing left for him to do is to return to Tevinter, searching for the man who freed him from slavery.Gathering information, Hel gets to know Dorian has strangely disappeared from the public for months, and that rumours say he's being kept as a prisoner in his father's estate.At that point, the elf knows exactly what needs to be done.__Non!Inquisitor LavellanOne-shot part of a series dedicated to the character. Can be read as stand-alone.





	Eum salvo - I save him

**Author's Note:**

> My fellow readers, after procrastinating with the translation of this piece I am finally back at it!  
In this chapter, I wanted to explore how it was possible for Dorian to have escaped the reclusion imposed by his father while also explaining why Hel'shrael hasn't returned to his clan after the fight he, Dorian and Alexius had, after the death of Livia and his progressive loss of control.
> 
> As stated in the description, this work is part of a series and reading the other chapters would help to understand the whole picture, though it can easily be enjoyed by itself.  
The Johnathan mentioned at a certain point in the text is my canon and main Inquisitor.  
If you wish to know more about my characters and their story you can visit my Tumblr at @holyblackspear while I produce more content about them ;3
> 
> Without further ado, let's get started!

The slow and repetitive movement of the ship had accompanied him for days now, bringing even further away his mind already completely detached from reality.  
He spent interminable hours, sometimes even entire days, staring at the sea in the distance, an endless expanse of blue, green and black that could have been everywhere and in no place at all at the same time. On the ship’s deck, without speaking to anyone, changing position only occasionally not to get sunburnt, he let the salty sea air encrust his face and hair, drowning in its acrid smell the pain that was tearing his chest from the inside.  
People passed beside him without questioning. The sailors, as well, looked strangely kind-hearted and didn’t bother him if not every now and then, to ask him to move and make space for the manoeuvres.  
Some of them even went out to bring him food and a blanket, when he stayed out for the night. They laid there next to him those objects and went away, presumably understanding his need to be alone with his mind.  
The return to his clan after the horrid experience of slavery in Tevinter didn’t go as he had imagined. He didn’t find opened arms ready to take him in again after all the torture and the atrocities endured, ready to soothe his memory and finally give him peace, but the guardian had urged him to leave before the others gained knowledge of his survival and he was expelled in a much more negative way. «Too many mages» - she had explained with regret, looking at him full of sadness and a motherly affection her role imposed her to cast aside - «You’d be in the way and we can't accept you. Go elsewhere, go where you can be happy, where you can live a dignified life without having to hide.»  
The rejection he had received after having disappeared for years and the glance unwavering but still desperate of the woman who had basically raised him as her Second had made him turn on his heels with a terrible burden on his shoulder. Where could he be happy and live without hiding? Since he was kidnapped he had no other place he wanted to return to but that. How many other places in that world would be safe for an elf apostate mage, born with the disgrace of being beautiful?  
So he had waited a few days hidden in a cave far from the clan and every other form of life, before making his decision. He would go North, passing through Antiva, and he would go back to Tevinter, seeking the only person that remained him, the last foothold with a slight hint of sense amid a tempest  
who had lost it entirely.  
The journey, naturally, was full of dangers and the chances of finding that man, let alone be accepted by him now that his life had probably taken a turn for the better, was almost ridicule. But Hel’shrael, by that time, had nothing more to lose.  
He had been snatched from his people, raped, sold for sex, threated to be made Tranquil. And now, at last, he had been rejected from the only place he could still call home. No, he really had nothing more that could be taken from him. The marks on his face, his magic, dignity, a family … nothing was important anymore.  
Because of that, he had decided to ignore all the negative scenarios that unravelled in front of his eyes and to risk. To return to the only person he was debtor of.

The ship dropped anchor about a week later in a small harbour in the vicinity of Qarinus. The elf paid the remaining part of his journey to the right hand of the captain, a qunari sufficiently brazen not to care about the glances people threw him. His presence had terrified him, memories of an experience he preferred to cancel continuously surfacing, but he had proven to be respectful and didn’t come close to him even when it was strictly necessary, opting to send another man in his place. He was a good observer and for that, he had to thank him.  
Naturally, once landed, his first thought was to find a discreet accommodation in which he could wash, refresh and spend the night for some days, while he gathered information about the person he was looking for. House Pavus, if he remembered correctly, was a native of that place and that was the reason that had brought him in that specific city, of all the places in the Imperium. He was mostly sure he could obtain news on the subject without having to stick out or take risks. He didn’t want to repeat a second time the experience of slavery only because someone would notice his pointed ears or his magical ability, dangerous without a master, let alone the beautiful body hidden underneath his clothes that “had an extreme need of being possessed”, as someone had told him.  
He had slipped in the first tavern, hood low on the head and an Orlesian mask underneath, just to be safer. Formally, he was an academic travelling for personal reasons. Obtaining suited robes and learning how to speak with a credible accent had cost him strength and a lot of money he didn’t have and had retrieved stealing from nobles. He wasn’t proud of his actions, but the hate he felt towards the world had erased his remorse for similar acts long ago.  
The host seemed convinced by his farce and accommodated him more than gladly in one of the rooms, provided with a tub to wash and fresh food brought there only a couple of hours ago. Cheese, wine, the kind of food that could be stored for days without rotting. Involuntarily, also, he had given him an interesting spot since, through the thin wall that separated him from the adjacent room, he could listen with precision to the discourse the two guests where having. It wasn’t the best, but he was well interested in lending an ear to their chitchatting after having filled the tub with warm water with his magic, searching for information that could be useful.  
As predicted, it didn’t take much to come, after a long session of nonsensical twaddle and malice towards the most diverse popular people, some of them even he had already heard of. People, in that Imperium, didn’t know how to keep their mouth shut.  
«Have you heard, Oratius, of the scandal of a few months ago? We didn’t speak of anything else for weeks, here in the city.»  
«No, Aquinea, I have just returned and I hadn’t the change to indulge in gossip. What has caused turmoil in his piece of the world?»  
«You will not believe it, my dear, but it’s about Pavus’ son.»  
Immediately, at that phrase, the young elf stopped lathering his hair. Not caring about wetting the floor he stood up and closed to the wall with his ear, barely breathing. He had foreseen to obtain the sought answer soon, but he didn’t expect such rapidity … not such a dramatic situation in hand.  
«It seems he has been reclused at home by his father since a couple of month for a scandal of sexual nature. Halward refuses to confirm the rumours and on the contrary, pushes them away harshly, but he had to step down from his position and he has no more excuses to justify the lack of marriage of his son, who has refused his betrothal screaming and shouting.»  
«What, a prisoner in his own house? It’s an absurdity, he must be ill – Pavus would never let such a ruinous rumour slip.»  
«He didn’t decide it, it was the fuss he caused that uncovered it for him. Before everything started, it seems he has invaded the property of Lord Ulio Abrexis, killing seven guards to snatch his son from the arms of his lover, with which he has been found entangled. Poor Ulio, when he discovered about the tendency of his son…»  
The young man’s heart started beating more and more fiercely, as the information was given to him one by one, seasoned with insults and mean comments. The picture that was being painted in front of his eyes was horrid and disgusting, to the point he found himself praying that those were exaggerated lies and that his permanence in the house was due, in truth, to a motive much more simple and foolish. How could it all be possible? Was Dorian’s father cruel enough to yank his son from a love of his to force him into a marriage and to keep him at home, as a /prisoner/? The thought made him nauseous, for a multitude of reasons.  
Morally vapid, insufferable … if compared to his own memories and the captivity he himself had to endure, though with different premises.  
Shortly afterwards the conversation migrated towards other topics, useless to his ears. He returned without a word to the water that was turning cold, wet hair that was getting long dripping on his back. He would have to cut them before the following day. And he would have to gather more information.

A handful of research days gave him access to a variety of versions of the story, however bringing him to the conclusion that there was a fundamental truth: Halward had actually killed some men to retrieve his son in the middle of a sexual intercourse and the young man was now at home, not to be seen for months now.  
Having confirmed such hypothesis, he didn’t even have to think to know what he had to do next. He had paid the bill to the host, changed his clothes in the countryside without being disturbed by anyone, and had steered towards house Pavus while brandishing staff fresh from the market. It was weak, the most he could afford with the little money he had at this disposal for a similar purchase. The disguising costume he was still wearing when he bought it, however, was sufficient to convince the merchant to sell it to him without too intrusive questions.  
Probably he had thought about a traveller with not much money left or a low-rank mage with no demands for his weapon.  
Intruding inside the property’s fence wasn’t particularly difficult, once the night had fallen. Being an elf he could rely on his night vision and his naturally quieter steps than humans. Therefore he avoided with relative agility the guards of the aforementioned race that were strolling lazily around the perimeter of the area, climbing a wall without being seen to have a look at the problem.  
The bluish light coming from a particular window, the highest one, suggested a magical barrier was involved. No other room had it, so it was easy to deduce it was where the young mage was being held, at least for the time being. Why not destroying that protection so easy to tear apart?  
Ah, certainly – he found himself thinking shortly after, a shiver of horror that ran along his spine, remembering his own past and the dreadful feeling of impotence he had endured – they had blocked his magic. Tranquillity wasn’t the only option available: blindfolding a mage prevented them from using much of their spells, just as some types of cuffs would cut the most of one’s ability to catalyse power. There was no worst thing for them than being deprived of the only defence they had.  
That story had to end, there and immediately. If there was someone who knew what meant to be powerless and captive, that was him.  
He would have the chance to speak with Dorian and ask for explanations, just as he’d have time to leave in case he wanted him out of the way. His aim, now, was to free him and give him the possibility to choose for his existence.  
The question, however, was how. He could profit of the moment the guards were on the other side of the building and strike the barrier, shattering it, but he didn’t have the certainty sentinels weren’t watching the scene, ready to send alarm at the flash of light that would be caused by the destruction of the protective veil. If someone was able to track down its origin and they’d be able to hunt him down it would be the end for Dorian, and for how little he cared about losing his life or not at that point he most certainly didn’t want to make it worse for the young man.  
He needed more time, then, to observe the setting and learn about the modus operandi of the guards. It was risky, naturally, and every night the possibility of being caught would rise, but he didn’t have anything anymore keeping him from trying.  
Dorian would be free, no matter at what cost.

So he did, then, for three consecutive nights, observing even throughout the day the house in the distance and listening intently to any chitchat of the guards or the servants.  
Some of his suppositions were correct: Dorian was secluded in that chamber and some sentinels were put at his door and on the entire floor, just in case he was able to break free from the first line. The window, similarly, was sealed with magic, the same that was precluded to the young man thanks to specific handcuffs newly crafted and under experimentation, able to cut the connection between a mage and the Fade. Qunari treasure, had said one of the guards.  
However, security wasn’t as strong as he had initially thought. Two people circled cyclically around the building, roughly every thirty minutes, but as for the rest, nobody actually checked the back of it, expecting that problems would come on the front since they were fearing an attack that would come from within. Fools – Hel’shrael thought to himself with a little triumphant grin. He was about to show them what a stupid elf slave was able to do.  
The moment came, that evening, when he observed the two guards ending their walk and returning into the house. He had to be silent and to risk it all, not even counting he had to be ready to be discovered and killed. He had to be as quick as he had ever been, praying he had calculated meticulously all the variable of his plan of action.  
«Mythal ma ghilana. Dirthamen, Andruil, watch over me, for I need your strength. May I be successful in this task.» - He praying in little more than a whisper, lids closed and conscience completely emptied, mute for a handful of interminable seconds. It was as if he world had stopped and he didn’t hear or feel anything, not the pain of the legs folded against the hard trunk, not the shards of wood scratching his palms, nor the noise of the nocturnal garden. He heard only the beating of his own heart, slow and silent, and his breath that rhythmically reclaimed and rejected air, infusing his limbs with life.  
Then he opened his eyes in a flash and jumped to action.  
He regained conscience, hopped off the tree producing only the faintest sound, lost in the breeze, and ran towards the building with the heart hammering in the chest. Three, four, five strides. Wall, rough and cold brick, hard.  
He had no time to waste.  
He pressed a hand against the wall, palm illuminated with a freezing white light before a piece of ice materialized under it. He would create those ledges and use them as climbing spots, degrading them gradually as he proceeded onwards in order no leave no traces and so he did, counting seconds while he climbed, senses spasmodically tensed in order to perceive any calculated movement that would catch him out, throwing everything he had planned in the trash.  
Incandescent cold under his palms, the shoe that risked to slip for a moment, letting him dangle on the window of the inferior floor. A laugh a bit too loud coming from inside, ice in the veins and heart skipping a beat. Two more holds to go, one more…  
He finally reached the adequate height, relying only on the last panel of ice under his feet, slightly luminescent in the dark black of the night. He had to breach the barrier. The staff would have been the most effective and rapid choice, but doing so would have caused a great deal of noise and everyone would notice its destruction. He would have to use hands, then, trusting only his concentration and the hope that his studies with Alexius were of some use.  
“I beg you, Dorian – if you see my hand, don’t scream” - he implored mentally while breathing in sharply, before risking his whole life by pressing against the magical protection.  
The contact, as it was expected, was painful. The electric energy that composed it diffused with stingy ferocity through his palm, climbing into the arm to the jaw and part of his back, making him tremble and risking to throw him off balance. Luckily, however, that was his element, he was used to the tingling sensation it caused. He clenched his teeth, shut his eyes closed, and with all the focus he could gather he visualized to tear the protection apart in his mind.  
He put into that all his frustration, his hatred and the pain he had scarred into his soul and body, as well as all the desire to free the man on the other side that for how obtuse, pompous and at times detestable was also a splendid person, and the one he had saved him from an otherwise miserable life, made only of violence and annihilation. He would suffer no more, he would be free. Gods, be that the last thing he’d do, he would make sure Dorian was able to live with a smile on his face and that no one could tear it from him, playing the role of the jailer for some vapid politic.  
The energy wall started to sizzle slightly and, little by little, degraded under his determination, minuscule blue crack that sent out from the centre of his palm to all directions, following a spider web of crevices. When nothing of it remained but its sibilant borders and a pallid violet halo, his exhaustion crashed down on him and his body trembled with fatigue, emptied of its forces. But he couldn’t yield, not now and not yet.  
With tottering steps, risking to fall for the weakness of his muscles, he stepped onto the sill and peered inside, praying with all his might not to find guards ready to fill him with daggers or Dorian yelling in terror.  
Nothing, instead. Only the back of the young man hunched on his desk, the head low and the hair all messy, something he’d normally never permit.  
He could knock on the glass, but that was out of question. Someone could hear the sound and Dorian himself would have a dramatic reaction, just like everyone would finding someone looking at your back sitting on a technically inaccessible window.  
Hel took a deep breath to gather his magic and shape it following his will, cutting down a whimper of pain that pressed against his lips when he raised his hand anew.  
Having a clear image of his target, it would be easy to catalyse it in that direction. He would be imprecise, most likely, knowing that fire was really not his speciality and it wasn’t assured the lad wouldn’t jump up scared, but he had to try.  
Reducing the eyes to two slips, he rested his palm against the glass and gazed upon the desk, where a white sheet of paper started to lazily let out some smoke, following the stream of his thoughts. “Don’t scream. Turn around”, the faltering calligraphy said, written with a feeble lick of flame. It was all he managed to do before his powers failed him and his limbs yelled, reclaiming a rest he wasn’t about to give them and that had to repress with a weary hiss.  
Dorian noted a second later the line of smoke coming from the sheet and actually jolted, jumping to his feet, though being able to cover his mouth in time to cut off the natural scream that was brought to his lips by instinct. An instant later his eyes darted to the window separating them … and after almost two years without seeing him, those two grey pools filled with fear and fury made his heart wobble in nostalgy and joy.  
Neither of them wasted time talking. The man, though shackled, hastily opened the window after having blocked the door with a chair, just in case someone decided to come in precisely at that time. He turned the lock as gently as he could, metal clicking coldly, finally parting the glasses and permitting the elf to sneak inside although the trembling of his muscles made it difficult, fought back by the sustain the man offered him in the descent.  
They had to get away, and quickly. They had no time for pleasantries since he had no idea how much time had passed since the patrol of the guards and they had not a second to waste. If they had found out the barrier had been consumed the two of them would be trapped in that room while someone would give the alarm.  
The human seemed to have the same opinion, just as he understood on his own that he had to keep quiet, to avoid people breaking in suddenly from outside his door. He moved rapidly, grabbing from under his bed a sack and starting to stuff it with all the important things: clothes to change into, objects of value, money and some documents and papers. A second bag, smaller, was given to him, tied to his waist like a pouch. It contained a few tomes and potions, besides even more money they could spend to live and leave.  
Dorian turned to face him as soon as he was finished, not after having looked at the door with wariness. The handcuffs around his wrists reflected the light of the candles hanging on their heads, sending back a yellowish glow almost scornful. He would destroy them in a second moment, when they’d be out of there. At least the chain holding them together was long enough to permit some space of manoeuvre.  
Even though he was void of energy, they had to act now so they wouldn’t get stuck. He looked at him intensely, hearing nothing for a moment but the sound of the night and the indistinguishable chats on the lower floor. A handful of seconds seemed to last an eternity while their eyes, silent, told to the other everything their lips couldn’t, the joy, the fear, the risk and the gratitude. They would voice those feelings when they’d get out victoriously of that feat.  
The younger’s body moved, climbing of the sill. The human did the same, looking down with a minuscule grunt of disapproval.  
They had to go down as he had climbed, using the ice. He showed him, clenching his teeth, while he generated safe ledges they could grab and walk on so they could slide along the wall to the earth, avoiding being seen by the people on the lower floor.  
Hel’shrael felt the concerned glance of the man on himself – he must have noticed his trembling and the progressive difficulty with which the ice formed against the house. “A little more”, he told himself at every new magical spike, feeling closer and closer to the point of fainting. “Pain and fatigue are lies. I am invincible, we will get out of this alive.”  
The last step was false, the heel slipped from its support. He was grabbed just in time by his companion that covered with haste the distance between him and the earth, impeding him and himself to crash on the ground. He would thank him properly, in other circumstances, but he could only look at him with a slight nod to convey the feeling.  
As if both of them knew exactly what they needed to do, they both darted forward in unison, after having checked each a different direction. Hel was in front, despite the bumpy run caused by weariness, Dorian at his back holding him up by one of his arms, clenching fingers around his muscle as if to infuse it with energy, with decision.  
It had all gone smoothly, perfectly. Until when, abruptly, a voice broke the silence of the night.  
«Who’s there?»  
Frost. Horror. His muscles paralysed and blood ceased to flow through the veins, annulling his vital functions while he managed to sense only the deaf sound of his own terror. The warm light of a torch lit their petrified faces, rising almost in slow motion in the murk of the night.  
There was a second, interminable, when both them and the guard that had caught them stared at each other, none capable of doing whatever action to break the stalling situation.  
Then instinct, the desperate fight for survival had its best. Before the man could scream, before he could reach for the knife he had on his coat, the punch of Dorian struck as rapid as one of his lightning bolts, crashing with a horrible sound against the cranium of the guard. He wheezed and fell unconscious on the floor, the thud of his body a sound reassuring and tremendous at once.  
They both stared at him for what seemed like ages, still frozen by fear, before the elf dragged the hand of the young man and went back to running towards the fence they had to override, praying no magical barrier had been activated.  
Ironically, despite his worst conjectures and the exhausted agony of his muscles deprived of mana, both of them managed to reach the other side unharmed. And, still silent and unwavering as two thieves, the disappeared in the night, only the rumble of their hearts filling the starry sky towering above them.

They found shelter in a tavern several miles away from there. The young elf entered first, asking for a room only after having worn the Orlesian mask and raised the hood of his clothes. Dorian was helped inside from a window, taking advantage of an empty room on the first floor to let him sneak in and have him following him on the last level of the building. The height of their accommodation would prove to be an advantage in case someone could successfully track them down.  
The silence between then lasted until they both stepped inside and the door was closed with all its locks and bolts possible, a small cabinet moved against it for ulterior protection. Then, abruptly … the atmosphere changed completely.  
Dorian bolted forward, using the chain keeping his wrists together to insert the body of the young man between his arms, squeezing him with all the strength he had. And at that moment, with his so familiar warmth holding a body brought to his limit … for a brief instant, Hel’shrael felt at home. In the only place where he still belonged to.  
He locked the arms around his shoulders while he ripped off the mask and threw it on the bed, burying the face in the crease of his neck, the maddened pulsing of his jugular bouncing rhythmically against his pointed ear, remind him that he was alive. And free.  
«Vishante kaffas … of all the things I expected to see, this is truly the most astonishing.» - the man murmured, voice scratchy and trembling as if trying to hold back the tears. His own eyes responded automatically, pinching to the point a single hot drop rolled along his cheek, torridly burning his marked visage before falling somewhere near the amber clavicle of the man - «...How is that possible? Am I perchance dreaming and I’ll soon find myself in the house of my dear father, caged like a dog he’s desperately trying to hide from the public?»  
«Heh, if it was a dream you’d be well-groomed and with make-up on and I would have brought you here carrying you like a princess.»  
He mocked him playfully while he parted just enough to raise his gaze on him, taking joy in the familiar sound of his laughter, sincere and crystalline like a water stream, like the raw diamonds he had in the place of his eyes. He had forgotten how much he could miss that little dimple that formed at the corners of his mouth when he laughed, though hidden by the dark curl of his moustache. He imagined he wanted to keep it like that, now that he had discovered his liking for a similar style, back to before they separated from Alexius and everyone took his own route.  
When the sound of his joy calmed down and they could look in the other’s eyes, Hel could have sworn to see him aged of many years, many more than those that had actually passed. The unrestrainable hatred that felt building up against his father, though he hadn’t even ever met him, closed his throat in a suffocating grip, fists clenched and nails digging in his palms, painful as the shards of electricity of not too long ago. Halward would pay, whatever that affirmation implied.  
«...How did you manage to? Why have you returned here, in Tevinter? And alone, of all things – fasta vass, have you completely lost your mind?»  
«If you put it like that, you seem annoyed by my presence.»  
«Sweet Maker, no! You just saved me from … it doesn’t matter. Not now.»  
«I believe it does, Dorian. Why the hell were you kept prisoner with … these?» - he demanded, while pulling away from his embrace and looking at the handcuffs closed on his wrists, cold metal still pressed, nauseating and icy, against his own skin in a memory that belonged to the past - «...Stay still, as we speak. I’ll attempt breaking them.»  
«It would be very poetic for you to free me from my chains, but I am sorry to inform you it is out of question. You can hardly keep yourself up, you’re clearly exhausted and low on mana. You won’t waste another particle of your energy for this man, though I understand my charm makes everyone well disposed towards me.»  
«It seems it didn’t help much with your father.» - he objected, the annoying expression betrayed by a little grin and his sarcastic tone, while he completely ignored him and pressed his fingers against the metal on his arms, trying to freeze it. He couldn’t say he was wrong, though: frosting even the mere surface of those damned things left him gasping for breath and with legs threatening to give out. The barrier and the run had consumed him thoroughly.  
«What outrageous comment. It seems you already know what – Hel’shrael, I said no. Stop.»  
His hands were grabbed by a palm decidedly warmed and bigger, so comforting in the safety it transmitted, so infuriating in the feeble tremor he couldn’t hide, incredulous and terrified and relieved.  
In less than a second, his purple irises jolted to the man’s face, silently asking to let him proceed. The other one, on the contrary, was obeying him to quit before he sent him to the Fade. How, better not to ask.  
He capitulated when his legs finally curled and needed to be grabbed by his companion to keep standing. It was funny hearing him spouting a tight burst of Teven imprecations, helping him to sit on the bed and continuing to support him with apprehension, observing as he raised a hand to the head that was beginning to pulse, underneath the hood he threw back on the shoulders.  
The caress on his spiky hair, from the top of his skull to the nape, came totally unexpected, surreal in its sweetness. An attentive focus, furthermore, would have noticed Dorian’s attempt at catalysing some healing energy to infuse, though well knowing he was incapacitated by the iron rendering him innocuous and scarily useless. Gods, for how much he tried he still couldn’t stomach that feeling, that pang of terror that suffocated him every time he saw him deprived of his powers, past melting with the present.  
«...I am no longer welcome in my clan.»  
It was natural to whisper it, at a certain point, when the room remained silent for many seconds and the only audible sound was the coarse passing of his palm through his hair and the crackling of the fireplace nearby. The sudden stillness of the human, like the breath that stopped for a second, let the younger one know he was as shocked as he had been, learning about such condition.  
«It doesn’t make sense. You were kidnapped when you were the First to the Keeper, do I remember correctly? You were a skilful mage, then, and the time spent with Alexius only sharpened your abilities, turning you into a better future leader. For what reason they...»  
«Each clan possesses a maximum of three mages, to avoid humans annoying us more than necessary, to avoid they start hunting us for sports as some already do. When I returned, I became the sixth or seventh. They cannot risk that.»  
The coldness with which he spoke, the detached hardness in his own voice, surprised himself as well. He wasn’t unprepared, however, for the tingling of his eyes, echo of interminable tears already shed to a nauseating point. Surprising how, even after the slavery and now that refusal, he still had some to share. He should invent an enchantment that would wipe them away forever.  
The man in front of him remained silent, probably staring at him while he obtusely kept looking at the ground, eyes on the wood of the pavement and on the soft red carpet under his feet. It was a little dirty and dusty – probably it hadn’t been cleaned for a few days now.  
Hel’shrael didn’t fight nor protests when his face was cupped and raised, the fingers of the man’s right hand that dug, involuntarily, in the scar ploughing his jaw, only mark disfiguring a visage otherwise perfect. He felt Dorian wincing imperceptibly at first, probably fearing to have done something unpleasant before his stillness relaxed him and he started caressing it, worry and sweetness, delicate burning feather against his skin. The care of that touch, its kindness, gave the elf a strong desire to bury against his chest and fall asleep like that, forever, embraced in a warmth that still cared about his life, in the arms of a person for whom he still meant something, even if minuscule and virtually insignificant.  
«...Did they hurt you?»  
«No. I only spoke with the Keeper, she’s the one who begged me to get away before the others knew about my … not death. She wanted to avoid causing turmoil if someone wanted to keep me no matter what, wreaking havoc.»  
«Shit, of course they would have protested! Your parents, your friends, they-»  
«Dorian.» - he interrupted him as he spoke, incapable of furthering that conversation, threatening to empty even more his already destroyed soul, void of energy - «Enough, I beg you. Not today.»  
The lad didn’t appreciate the answer, judging from the displeased flash that fired his eyes, but the sad vein he saw running through his irises was bigger, forcing him to only nod. There seemed to be even a speck of scorn, of wrath, of injustice badly endured. Funny how they were so different, the two of them, and yet feeling identical sensations for the reciprocal situation. Maybe Johnathan was right when they were young, talking in front of the fire – races meant nothing. When all was said and done, only people remained.  
«You, instead. You had yourself imprisoned because you knew your knight in shining armour would come?» - he teased him, trying to ease the atmosphere of the conversation, despite the topics being all but fun to talk about. At least the black-haired burst out in a laugh, that for how bittersweet was also true and sincere.  
«You don’t want to speak about your situation but expect me to explain mine? Mostly pretentious though I understand it, everyone adores listening to me talking for hours, especially if my sultry voice can be accompanied by my extraordinary looks.»  
«You’ll worsen my headache if you go on like this. I might consider the idea of keeping you as a hostage, to ask for a ransom.»  
Again, he wasn’t serious, and the little hit that landed on his shoulder made him smile as well, while Dorian pretended to be outraged but couldn’t hide the curled corner of his lips.  
«If you came searching for me and you were able to open as a breach through our defences you’re already aware of all there is to know. Prolonging the story with futile details would only bore you and your hurting head.» - he paused, lowering his grey gaze, the expression progressively withering, inversely proportional to the growing curve of his eyebrows. He seemed on the verge of tears - «...My father didn’t appreciate my behaviour. He came to have his little puppet back, naturally. Killed seven people, had me chained and thrown on a ship like the trash he thinks I am. And oh, clearly keeping me prisoner at home, deprived of my magic for the most time was a splendid idea, especially considering the interminable discussions and...»  
He abruptly stopped, almost as if his tongue had died in his mouth. Hel saw him clenching his fists and lips, a single straight and overly pulled line, the profile of jaw square and enraged. In his eyes, however, there was a tempest of pain so grey it could have drowned whoever dared to look inside. It was instinctual, for the elf, to snap forward to grab his hands, responding with alarm to his body language. He wasn’t just sad, he was furious, destroyed, hurt.  
«Dorian, what have they done to you?»  
«...Nothing. What they intended to would be the correct question.» - he laughed, in front of the crescent worry that painted itself across his marked face, before spitting half an explanation with rage, implying it would have to suffice - «A grave mistake. A beastly foolishness. I was already planning my escape as soon as I got to know, but it seems you got the jump on me.»  
Hel would have liked to ask for more detailed information, but they would have served only to make his interlocutor suffer and to worsen his resentment and rancour. None of the two needed an additional dose of anger and pain, especially not at that moment, so it was clear the topic had to begin and finish there, in that precise instant. The vital information had already been shared, after all.  
Dorian’s hands brought him back to reality, while they held his as if he wanted to join them in prayer. He reminded him a little of Alexius, when he used to take Livia’s and bring them to his lips, kissing them tenderly while she chuckled and muttered something about how he still hadn’t lost that vice, despite all the years spent together. Naturally, he was travelling too much with the mind, and the way it quickly made that analogy filled him with unease and embarrassment.  
Fortunately, there was the man’s smile keeping him anchored to the present. One of the deepest, most sincere ones he had seen him gifting to someone, the eyes two pools of contrasting and thundering emotions, between which one towered, however, radiant and disarming.  
Gratitude.  
«...I thank you so much, Hel’shrael. I know not what I would have done if you hadn’t come, I have no idea if … if I would make it in time. You risked your life to come back here, alone, in a place that gave you only terrible memories, you risked it entering my estate, destroying the barrier and challenging fate and you did this … for me. For a man who gave you nothing, to whom you owed nought.»  
The sincerity of those words, the genuine affection that exuded were … almost too intense for him. He risked suffocating between them while the lump in his throat rose, knotting it in correspondence of Adam’s apple and threatening to cut his breath off in a matter of seconds, probably with a sob.  
Instead, he remained steady. He interrupted him when he was about to speak anew, shaking his head as to say none of that was necessary of veritable.  
«Nothing of what you say is true, Dorian. I don’t have only bad memories in this place. The life with Alexius, Felix and ...» - he had to stop, closing the eyes for an instant to swallow his emotions, both coming from his heart and the sweetened expression of the Imperial - «...You freed me. I owed you my life, and so I did: I risked it to pay my debt. I say we’re fair now, though I don’t think you...»  
«Hush. You cannot know how true your words are, how much you’ve done for me. Kaffas, damned elf, I...»  
They both seemed about to burst out crying. Maybe for that, while his voice cracked and trembled, Dorian jolted forward to hug him as he had done before, encircling him with chained arms and grabbing him with all the strength that remained him, almost clinging to him, begging him not to disappear.  
The young man was more than happy to oblige, holding him against the chest as if he was the last person on heart, precious treasure nobody would be permitted to touch.  
The scent of the hair he buried his face inside smelled like home and something else, something he still obstinately refused to recognize as such but that, in his heart, perceived from a long time already, from years back to when Alexius had taken him in and had given him a dignity life.  
Family.


End file.
